


182 - Van Can't Keep His Mouth Shut

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “One shot where van is the first guy to make y/n squirt and then she overhears van telling Larry and she gets a bit upset because she feels like it’s personal and she doesn’t trust how much of their sex lie van doesn’t discuss with Larry?” and “Something where Van gets super worked up and argues with Y/n over something and she doesn’t come back for a while but when she does it’s all fluffyyy” and “Larry finding nudes of vans girlfriend on vans phone and van sees and begs Larry not to tell vans girlfriend because she’ll kill him”





	182 - Van Can't Keep His Mouth Shut

Relationships meant something very different before Van. They were sacrifice and one-sided compromise and holding your stomach in for hours on end. They were discomfort endured in an attempt to be normal, to be loved. After Van, all of that seemed so deeply fucking wrong. Dating him was easy. You didn't have to give anything up, there were only things to be gained. From the very first hand held, blushing cheek, fluttered eyelash you were comfortable and at home. It meant that when you started to let his hands crawl under your clothes, it was the best sex you'd ever had.

The lights could stay on and you were not self-conscious. Any sound that escaped your mouth Van would reply to with adoration and lust. Your body suddenly became something you wanted to explore. Van was good at that. There were things you didn't know you liked that Van stumbled across accidentally. There were places he could touch and your toes would curl almost instantly in response. He mapped you quickly and became an expert in making you completely fucking lose yourself. The trust you had in him was absolutely key to that.

Van's respect for your privacy was the reason you could give him more. He still refused to get Snapchat, so you had to send photos through good old fashion messages. It started innocent, just random photos of whatever you were doing at the time. Extreme close ups of your face when you were at the shops and a kid was screaming in the same aisle as you. Your crinkly hands after doing the dishes. Two second videos of you blowing a kiss to the camera before bed. Anything to keep the sadness of having him on tour at bay. Over time the content of the photos became riskier. Van's encouragement made you all gooey inside, and you wanted to make him happy.

It went unsaid that he'd not show anyone the photos. You never bothered to confirm that either. Trust, see. If you've got to question it then it doesn't exist at all. And you and Van had it in excess. Lucky, really, that all that trust existed. Otherwise the first night in bed when he got back from tour would have been really very embarrassing for you.

There was no time after the orgasm to revel in the ecstasy. You went straight from the high induced by a combination of Van's fingers and mouth, to a whining, blushing mess.

"Oh my fucking god," you whispered when it happened. You kicked Van away and wriggled backwards from him and the deep wet patch on the bed. Van was trying to not laugh, but sounds came out through his open mouth in sharp high pitch notes. He was grinning and looking at you in sympathy.

"No! Babe! It's okay. Come here. What are you doing? Come here," he said, moving around the patch to you. Absolutely mortifying. "That's good! I'm takin’ it as a compliment," he laughed. "Hasn't that happened before? Don't ya know-"

"Yes, Ryan, I fucking know what happened. I just… No. Hasn't happened before," you replied with a pout. Van laughed and kissed your cheek. "What even, like, is it though? It's totally gonna ruin the bed."

As Van stripped the bed of sheets and put them in the wash, you attempted to save the clean white of mattress. Van kept smirking every time you glanced at him. You shook your head and threw a pillow.

"What?!" he yelled in a high pitch voice.

"Shut up, McCann."

…

Benji, Van and Larry were deep in argument when you walked into the kitchen. You ducked around their moving bodies to make a cup of tea.

"Y/N! What do you think?" Benji asked.

"Think 'bout what?" you replied. "Wasn't listening. Kinda just tune you guys out a lot to be honest."

Van laughed and pulled you under his arm.

"What should I do? Some guy that kind of knows Dani sent her a dick pic," he said. You cringed at the phrase. "I should care right?"

"Yeah. That's horrible," you agreed.

"Don't think it's that bad," Van said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but mate, you would think that. You know?" Larry said. Van grinned at him as your stomach flipped.

"It's not the concept, it's that he knows she's got a boyfriend and you don't just send strangers photos of ya fuckin' junk. Nobody wants to see that," Benji continued. You nodded when he looked at you for more confirmation. Your skin had gone hot and prickly.

"Uh. Yeah. Definitely tell him to fuck off," you said half-heartedly, getting out from under Van's arm. You walked from the kitchen.

"Babe. Your tea?" Van called after you.

"Changed my mind," you replied, leaving the guys alone.

…

You should have brought it up right away. Straight up asked what Larry meant. Was he just referring to Van's general nonchalant disposition? His harmless sleaze? Or, terrifyingly, did Larry know about the photos you and Van sent to each other? Had he seen them? Would all the good work and trust building and comfortableness be ruined by Van and Larry's no-boundary friendship? 

It was probably all those questions racing through your head that stopped you from asking the first. Instead, you went moody and wouldn’t let Van touch you at night. It wasn't resentment just yet, but it was on its way. You were hurt about something that you were unsure about the reality of.

"Baby?" Van whispered through the darkness after twenty minutes of being in bed. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What's happened? Have I done something?"

Maybe. Maybe not. It was a good fucking opportunity to figure that out. Instead, you dodged both questions.

"I'm fine," you replied and rolled over.

…

It was normal to have people in your house that didn't actually live there. Technically, you didn't live with Van either. There was a room in a flat somewhere in the city that hadn't been used in ages. But, you liked his house. You liked the constant string of people in the kitchen. Noise and warmth and family. When you woke up and heard Larry's ridiculous laugh, you smiled to yourself. There were a good few seconds before the dread in your stomach reminded you of your weird emotional state.

In addition to the normality of people being in the house, it was commonplace that you'd walk into a room and not have people notice. It's not like you creeped about; you were just quiet and lingered in doorways before stepping in. Horrible habit, really. It meant you often overheard conversations before you were officially invited into them.

"What do ya mean?" Larry asked.

"I don't know, mate. She's moody and won't talk to me 'bout anythin'. I've probably done somethin' but I don't know what,"

"Did anything happen?"

"No. We were so good. I mean…" Van paused and you stopped breathing. His hesitation meant that he knew he maybe should say what he was about to. You leant against the wall and listened to Van tell Larry about the sex, about the stained mattress, about your rosy cheeks. You could feel your chest heave in preparation for violent sobs. Van spoke about it with pride more than anything else. Like he had told you, he took it as a compliment. It didn't matter though. It didn't matter at all.

"Well… Guess all those pictures did somethin' for her?" Larry said.

That was it. The coffin, nailed.

You went back to the bedroom and pulled random clothes into an overnight bag still left out from Van's tour. You ran an arm along the bathroom bench, pushing your makeup and toothbrush into the bag. You stormed through the kitchen, grabbed your keys by the front door, and let it slam behind you.

Van was calling out, but you ignored him. In the front seat of your car, you reversed from the drive before Van could do anything about it. Away from his house, your house, you could hear your phone ringing from somewhere inside the bag. You'd ignore that too.

Back in the bedroom you'd not seen in months, you cried and cried until your eyes were puffy and your housemate Cassie was threatening to call your mum with concern.

…

Cassie followed your instructions and wouldn't let Van in when he knocked at the door. After a week, you picked up one of his calls.

"Baby. Babe. Please. I'm so sorry. Whatever it is. I'm so fuckin' sorry. Please come back," he said. You could hear the desperation in his voice.

"You don't even get it," you whispered.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm a fuckin' idiot. I don't know what I've done." There was silence but you were both breathing fast and out of sync. "Is it… Is it 'cause I told Larry about-"

"Yes! Fuck, Van. Of course it fucking is! Why would you tell him that? What else have you told him? Who else have you told?"

"Nobody! Nothing! I just… You've been so weird and I don't know why and I just… I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind 'cause you're so easy goin' and-"

"I'm easy going with you because you're my fucking boyfriend. Van. How am I meant to…" you started, but you didn't know what you were trying to say. Something about trust.

"What? Y/N. Please. I'm sorry. I'm a fuckin' idiot but I didn't mean to hurt you,"

"How does Larry know about the photos? Did you show him?" you asked, your voice back to a whisper.

"No! He accidentally saw one. Just one. Not even a real bad one. I told him to get my phone for somethin' and it was there and as soon as it happened I changed them settings so that messages don't show up on the lock screen, you know? I'd never just show him that, babe,"

"But you still told him about us,"

"I know. I fucked up… Can you just come home? We can talk about it? Come home, baby, please."

The ache of missing him hurt more than that of him not understanding where your boundaries were. You packed your bag, hugged Cassie, and drove home.

…

Cross-legged on the couch, your back to the arm rest, you breathed out. Van had repeated his apologies, and it was clear he really was sorry. You'd never seen him so stressed. The idea of you leaving and never coming back, it genuinely hurt him.

"I get it. I understand why you're upset and I promise I'll never fuck up like that again. I know now," he said.

You nodded. Slowly, he moved closer to you, reaching out to run a finger across the back of your hand. You turned it over when he got to the edge, letting him continue the tracing along your palm.

Relationships meant something very different before Van. And, after your first fight, if that's what it was, yours and his was different. The boundaries that had been assumed became concrete and spoken. Eventually, the comfort returned and you'd gravitate to wherever in the room he was. He would curl around you in bed, like your bodies were made to fit together. The trust took a little longer to rebuild, but when it was back it was like nothing had changed. After that, you felt at ease again and the sex and the secrets between you and Van and the everything good started again too. Gooey inside and out, you could breathe again.


End file.
